It's Good Shit
by YellowWomanontheBrink
Summary: I like it when you play with my hair. 21 Clark/Lois drabbles in MoS verse.
1. Sunsets

**Wow, am I late to this fandom. :.D I actually started writing these like three years ago and thought, hmm lemme share now since CLARK IS APPARENTLY DEAD BUT ALSO NOT? Fuck if I know man, BvS's ending made me so mad (in a love/hate way) but those JL teasers look good.** **This will be 21 drabbles. Inspired by Capital Cities "Farrah Fawcett Hair.**

In the aftermath of Zod's attack on Metropolis, it took three days for the dust to settle. For three long days, it was dark as night, and it reeked like concrete dust and smoke. For three days, people and emergency workers and victims were uncovered in the dark under the haze of concrete dust. For three days, twisted steel skeletons were peeled back to expose those who had taken shelter from the wreckage.

For three days, the newly named Superman worked tirelessly, following the coordination of the National Guard that flooded into Metropolis in the wake of the disaster.

It was three long days without rest. Three long days without sunrise or stars.

Three long days without the sky, but on the third dusk, the wind picked up and finally blew away the worst of the miasma.

This was the first sunset in three long days.

That night, Lois was in one of the 'shelters'— her old apartment had been too close to the damage, in an area evacuated by the emergency services. Some of the Wayne high rises had been opened to the displaced, and Lois was in the tallest one on the highest floor, the condos no one wanted to take when the electricity was shut off and there were no elevators.

Because of her relative isolation, for the first time since she'd found Clark and named him Superman, she felt comfortable enough to kick off her heels and really acknowledge all that had happened.

From her lonely new perch, she could see all of Metropolis, and over the old skyscrapers and new scars of destruction she could see the sunset.

That third day, after the point in time where the rescuees would stop being found and only corpse would be uncovered from the deepest parts of the wreckage, sitting on the lonely balcony of her high rise, she saw Clark again for the first time. He appeared almost suddenly, floating in front of her, and when she smiled at him an invitation, sitting beside her.

There were no words, none that they were ready to give or ready to hear, so they sat quietly and watched the sunset.

 **Thanks for reading! Drop a review on your way out if you liked this drabble. More to come~**

 **YellowWomanontheBrink**

 **October 16, 2017**

 **5:02 PM**


	2. You Know it When You See It

**YOU KNOW IT WHEN YOU SEE IT**

"Hi, Mrs. Kent? My name is Lois Lane...I'm with the Daily Planet, and I'd like to talk to you about your son."

Has Martha Kent not spent nearly the last thirty years of her life hearing those very words, she might have done more than just look.

"We need to talk about Clark, Mrs. Kent," Mrs. Aberforth, a well-meaning blonde young teacher had said.

"There's something off about that boy," the women from church had tittered and tattered at Bible Study. Martha had stopped going to church then.

"Your son will be safe in our custody," the well-dressed men in her nightmares said.

Even more so than the Jesus-freaks, the insane Ross woman from down the road and suspicious old Malcolm who'd had to come to fix their windows time and time again because neither she nor John had the touch for them, this woman made her nervous.

It was always easy to deflect questions about Clark— she wasn't the first woman to have a strange kid out in the country and she'd be damned if she was the last— but this woman, with her sweet bright eyes and the setting Kansas sun glinting off her coppery red hair did not evoke the feelings of defensive derision Martha harbored for every judgemental shrew out there that had ever questioned her and John about Clark.

Her lips tight in a frown, she looked her up, down, and up again, and instantly, she knew, this Lois Lane from the Daily Planet, knew what Martha knew about Clark.

It was easy for Martha to track the whereabout of her son— occasionally he sent her postcards, and oftentimes he sent her emails, and she followed the local news of whatever area he'd been in last and knew he'd moved on when there were stories of unusual fortune or damn near miracles. But then, she knew what to look for.

She'd seen in the suspicious eyes of many an accuser, the discomfort, the fear, even more disturbingly, the awe that Clark sometimes evoked. The closer she looked at Lois Lane, she saw only a plea, and beyond that, a promise.

A promise of no ulterior motives, and discretion.

The doe eyes didn't mask a perceptive intelligence and hard-won wisdom, a certainty of self and determination to match that ambition.

The pretty face didn't hide an unshakable moral foundation. Martha didn't know what those morals were, but standing before her was a threat to her only son. Her head begged her to remain calm, her heart raced with sickening fear, strengthening with every beat the resolve to silence this beautiful, possibly good woman if that was what it took, but her instincts told her—

Trust this woman. This woman is good. This woman will not let you down.

Martha Kent was suspicious and had become a little unfriendly in her twilight years, but she knew a good soul when she saw one, so she quieted her head and her heart and stepped back, letting Lois Lane into her house, and irrevocably into her life.

 **Thanks for reading! Drop a review on your way out. More to come soon.**

 **YellowWomanontheBrink**

 **November 1, 2017**

 **1:57 AM**


	3. You Know It When It's There

**YOU KNOW IT WHEN IT'S THERE**

Taking the subway in Metropolis at 8:00 am was notoriously horrible. Clark hated it with a passion. The stations were underground, and the ceilings were too low, and the ticket barriers never worked because he hated pushing on them too hard. It smelled like piss and oil and stale cigarette smoke, and garbage piled up around trashcans.

The saddest people stayed in train stations, under eaves and by the platform, sitting on cold concrete and tile despondently, cardboard signs forlornly abandoned during the weekends. It was pointless to beg from the locals; they were too used to ignoring them.

Lois pulled him alongside her, the clacking of her heels lost in the din and press of bodies. Clark would have lost her if not for her firm grip on his smooth hands.

"Come on Clark, that's our train over there!" she tugged him more insistently and expertly bobbed her way through the crowd. Clark felt like a bull in a china shop in comparison; bumping into businessmen and students and travelers alike.

"I don't know why we couldn't have taken a taxi," he finally caught up to her as they shoved their way onto the quickly filling train. She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it chastely.

"Clark," she said with a smile, completely ignoring his pout,, "I'm not paying forty dollars for a taxi when the train will put us ten feet from the Planet. It's your fault we're late anyway."

The memories of that morning, when they'd shared a shower (and a little more than that) wiped away what little irritation he felt.

 **Thanks for reading guys! Thought I'd share to cheer myself up. ^_^**

 **YellowWomanontheBrink**

 **November 29, 2017**

 **5:21 PM**


	4. Solar Energy

**SOLAR ENERGY**

There was something amazing and infallible about the sun, even to him.

It started out as a pet project, as an answer to a simple question he had been afraid to ask as long as he could remember.

Why?

 _Why am I this way? Why did you take me in?_

Of course, with every answer he got he only ever seemed to earn more questions. Some questions he felt were ones that could remain unanswered.

 _Am I truly the last?_

But even as he found himself questioning more and more, and subsequently becoming less and less satisfied with every given answer, he still found his biggest and most glaring question unanswered.

 _Why am I this way?_

Because you're an alien from a red sun planet called Krypton, and yellow solar radiation causes you to have great powers.

After Zod's murder. The answer he'd accepted so readily then (because the ability to know something rather than nothing was liberating on a scale even he hardly understood) seemed so thin now. And still, he was afraid to truly pursue the answers to the questions he had, not necessarily because he was afraid of what he find, but because he'd spent thirty years denying himself the allowance of investigating. Long term habits like that were hard to break.

Lois Lane had no such compunctions.

"So you get your powers...from the sun?" Lois asked dubiously, her eyebrows cocked and her lips pursed in the way they did when she was curious about something. If one was her enemy, it was a look to fear.

"That was what Jor-El told me, and it's something that I've always found true," Clark said. "I always feel strongest when the sun is at it's height, or when I'm above the ozone layer." Acknowledging his strength was not something he ever had to do, it was something he simply _knew,_ instinctively, unlike the rest of his senses. He controlled himself with an iron will karate masters would approve of.

It was something his gut told him everyone would fear if he ever spoke of its true berth.

"Not too worried about skin cancer, are you?" she drawled, running her hand over his arm, as if she could divulge the secrets of his flesh simply by looking hard enough.

"I don't know," he said simply, "I've never gotten a mole or anything."

"Hmm…" Lois said. "So, you've never gotten sick?"

"Apparently I was constantly sick as a baby," he said. "Earth's air wasn't suitable for me, at least, that's what my mother thought. I can remember being sick when I was very young...I can remember that kid of misery."

"I was thinking more along the lines of common cold then pneumonia, but okay," Lois sighed. She flopped backwards into the chair she had been sitting upright in. She had her thinking face, and Clark tried to resist the urge to lean over, cup his hands around her stubborn, beautiful face, and kiss her. But Lois was the kind of women who hated to be interrupted when she was thinking, so he steeled his will and refrained.

"Solar energy at its best, I guess," she finally sighed. "Though i wonder what the sun has to do with the air."

"A lot," Clark sighed. "The thinner the air is, the more the sun affects me, but only to a point." I think breathing is optional for me, he didn't say. That was too different, too alien, even for the women he had grown to adore, he thought. "It's an absorption thing, maybe?"

"You really know nothing about this?" Lois asked, incredulous. "This is your _body_ we're talking about. A phenomenal one, of course, but also a complete mystery."

"Anything I could have learned about Krypton was destroyed with Zod." For no the first time, he mourned the loss of Jor-El's key. The man had been steadfast, and clever.

"But Zod wasn't destroyed— at least, his body wasn't."

Clark nodded, steepling his fingers beneath his chin, his jaw tightening in contempt. He'd managed to trace the seizure of the body from the police to various government to Phillpus Labs— a subsidy of LexCorp. And he questioned, how could a private company obtain hold of something so clearly desired by a government that was half-leery of him?

"You told me, once that the only reason you survived the destruction of the world engine was because of daybreak." Lois tapped her finger consideringly against her lip, as if it were a pen and she was outlining the evidence from her next big bust. "Do you think Zod could've—"

"He's dead," Clark cut her off gently, but firmly. "I could...I…"

Lois's eyes were kind. "I'm sorry." she said. He smiled a wan smile that she barely returned.

With the appearance of Zod and his insurgents, something in the back of his mind that he had been missing his entire life was suddenly there. A connection of sorts, a sense that he simply couldn't ignore that eerily whispered Zod's own words.

 _You are not alone._

And as they'd been killed off in one fell swoop, that feeling had diminished to a single pinpoint, a single point centered around the man that had become nothing but his enemy. And with an effortless wrench of his arms, that light had flickered out like a candle in the wind. Suddenly, but lingering .

"So, the sun," she said, hastily getting back on topic.

Clark shrugged and offered a slightly more genuine grin, "What can I say?"

He was reminded of the blinding beauty of the young star from space, the burning welcome, the sense of fullness and energy just standing in its presence gave him, the way he unerringly knew its position in the sky, the way it gave the ability to always be able to find it— if he so wished, it would never be night for Clark Kent.

"I guess, for me, it's the best medicine."

 **A little more lighthearted this time around~ Happy New Year my friends!**

 **YellowWomanontheBrink**

 **January 1, 2018**

 **2:01 AM**


	5. Nutella

**NUTELLA**

Her cupboard was completely bare; she'd been gone for so long. Lois hadn't invited anyone over to her apartment in months,not while she'd been investigating the CEO of the largest banking conglomerate in the US. Unfortunately, she hadn't found anything especially newsworthy, at least not in the US. She and Clark had partnered up for this story, and he'd gone to investigate one of their outsourced offices and the paper trail had led him to Indonesia.

Lois knew he'd find more action there; things were always dirty when it was American big business in Asia, but oftentimes the country's GDP was less than the company's yearly profits, and they were powerless the change anything. At least he'd have a story, and hopefully a name.

Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her of her original purpose— finding something to eat. It was late at night and pouring rain. At three in the morning, even in the huge city of Metropolis, there were few places that delivered, and none on her side of town. She'd managed to save up enough to get a place on the west side, as far away from the Suicide Slums as one could get while not being in a suburb. If she was going to run headfirst into danger for most hours of her life, she'd like to sleep easy at least.

She had a nice view, but few open all night restaurants. And none that delivered.

Lois squinted out of her tiny, fogged up kitchen window. The roar of pounding rain was audible, even from her small corner of Metropolis. It was a freezing April shower, 28 degrees with powerful gales buffeting the storm with a negative wind chill.

Yeah. There was no way in hell she was going outside.

The apartment was silent. Only the sound of the storm kept her company.

Well, the sound of the storm and the slamming of old creaky cupboards.

She frowned. Before, the silence had never bothered her. She'd been without company for as long as she could remember, since she'd moved out of her dorm while finishing her undergraduate at Metropolis University. Lois never was one for having company over, but ever since Clark had come back, she'd gotten used to his looming presence, his quiet comfort, his cooking. Not like she couldn't cook— one didn't live on one's own for fifteen years and not learn how to cook— but she didn't cook like him. Clark cooked like a housewife, or one of those home cooking ladies on the Food Network.

By God, did she miss his cooking.

Back to her task, then, she sighed. Whenever Clark came to cook, he brought his own groceries in brown cloth bags. The glasses suited him in a strange way, she thought, closing yet another empty spice smelling cabinet. If he were fifteen years younger, he'd be a hipster, she'd joked. He never brought canned or processed food; though he would certainly eat out. Just not meat. It was an interesting conundrum that never failed to bring an amused smile to Lois's face.

Thinking of Clark's cooking made her stomach growl even ferociously. She grimaced.

At last, she came upon a cabinet that was not completely bare— the pantry above her formerly dusty and woefully underused stove. There were two cans of tuna— but no bread and no mayonnaise, canned sardines, a small bag of basmati rice, tomato paste, olives, and a single jar of Nutella.

"Yes!" She said out loud, stretching up with practiced ease and snatching the jar, shaking it from the embrace of dust. The golden foil seal wasn't even broken, and when she checked the sell-by date, it was was only four months old.

Four months, she'd been living out of hotels and rent-a-cars, for nothing.

Desolation crept up on the normally unflappable reporter. Her instincts had never led her astray before and those instincts were the very ones that said 'something's wrong here' when an anonymous letter had come in the mail, pointing her in the direction of the largest bank in the US.

Where Lois's drive for news came for her desire to expose corruption and crime, Clark enjoyed writing about the plight of the working man. He was a social justice writer— even his objective pieces had the ability to invoke feelings in readers.

Recently though, she'd been putting him through the wringer on how to write an investigative report. He had an excellent eye for detail, and an engaging, objective voice (when he tried) but a complete inability to tell how much was enough. There were some things that the public just didn't need to know, or couldn't know, or were beyond the average observation of the painfully average person. He could make leaps and connection sometimes even Lois failed to notice— though that had happened only once, she was proud to say (and how about that, her investigative skills outstripped that of an alien with superhuman senses!)- but he lacked a complete drive to look into things. He feared his own curiosity. Lois found that to be a tragedy. If he were unrestrained, no dirty secret killing the freedom of man would stay safe. But she'd been reporting long enough to know that it took more than just the truth to defeat evil.

She sidled through the kitchen, carrying her prize underarm as she navigated expertly through the familiar obstacles of the living room while she fiddled with her phone. The house was too quiet. Even though it was late at night, she wanted some company, even if it is was the voice of a stranger in the form of music.

Clad only in a baggy t shirt and comfortable cotton underwear, fuzzy socks on her feet warming her toes, she flopped onto the couch and turned up the volume on her phone, soft music quickly filling the room. She tossed her phone on the table and crossed her feet, fumbling for her jar of Nutella.

Within seconds, it was unscrewed and in her mouth, and it was chocolatey nutty heaven. As old as the jar was, the spread was still smooth and not hard and crumbly.

Licking absently between her fingers as she hummed along with the words of the song, augmenting the beat of the wind at the windows and the huff and whipcrack of icy water, her eyes drifted closed as she dug her hand into the jar for a second serving.

Oh yes, worry still ached at her, but alone in her apartment with a solitary jar of nutella for company, all she could feel was only a little more at ease.

Still hungry, but at ease.

 **I checked my stats- this story has a 1,500 reads! Thus, my third most popular fic on ffn, ever! Thank you so much for reading guys! Your comments always make my day. My anons, sometimes I really wish I could reply! Comment on ao3 at** **/works/ 12385203/ because they are always so thoughtful and never fail to bring a smile to my face.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **YellowWomanontheBrink**

 **January 21, 2018**

 **12:04 am**


	6. Democracy

**DEMOCRACY**

"Forte's!"

"Jenny's!"

Clark sat at his too-small desk, watching the verbal combat with genuine amusement. Lois and Carl, a copyeditor from the floor below the floor he and Lois worked on, were arguing about where to eat out for the annual office social. Lois was not budging; she'd been craving a good Italian panini for weeks, but it was Friday, and so Carl had taken that as an invitation to get wasted at Jenny's the liveliest bar downtown.

Jenny, the intern, made eye contact with Clark over Lois's shoulder and shook her head, covering her mouth to hide her smile as she carefully stifled her laughter.

Clark, who had tuned them out some time ago, stepped between the arguing par easily, using his bulk to cut off Carl's angry words and his smile to deter Lois's. In the split second she was thoroughly distracted, he spoke:

"Let's take a vote? Whoever wins by popular demand; that's where we'll go."

Lois stared at him with narrow eyes before nodding. When he glanced back, he saw Carl agreed as well.

"All in favor of Forte's?"

Four hands rose quickly as Lois met each of their eyes and did that amazing thing she did where she spoke without words.

"All in favor of Jenny's?"

Carl and Steve alone, though Perry looked considering before deciding to abstain from voting.

"Looks like we're going to Forte's," Clark said with a smile, and Carl groaned as the girls cheered.

"Come on, man," Carl muttered as everyone got their coats. "Why didn't you vote? It's not like we woulda gotten shitfaced or something. And you're a big guy, tell me you wouldn't want a beer after this clustefuck of a week?"

"You were outvoted, Carl!" Lois called cheerfully, "Don't be a sore loser, now!"

Carl pursed his lips petulantly, and Clark helplessly shrugged. God forbid he be the one to stand up against the force of nature that was Lois Lane.

 **If you're thinking I almost wrote a long depressing story about a dictatorship, you're almost right, but my depressed ass wanted fluff instead. Next one-shot will be up soon because it's prewritten.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **YellowWomanontheBrink**

 **May 18, 2018**

 **8:38 AM**


	7. My Voice

**MY VOICE**

Lex Luthor had an irritating voice. That was the first thing Clark observed about him, above all things.

It was a strange thing to judge someone by, certainly, but something about it put Clark off from the instant the man opened his mouth to inhale and let loose a stream of utter nonsense. Hasty, breathy, pitchy, and wrapped up in cloak of insincerity and put-upon airheadedness, Lex Luthor had rubbed Clark the wrong way.

If he weren't being paid to write about what he was saying, Clark would have certainly tuned him out.

As it was, he turned on his recorder, and took notes; though he had an excellent memory, it helped sometimes to have what he remembered be recorded and concrete. You couldn't justify an exact quote without a recording after all. Lois had flayed him alive the first time he did that.

Listening with half an ear, Clark quietly praised when Luthor finished, confused, but weary. Now...now he could do what he came here to do.


	8. Girls with Old School Names Like RubyMay

**GIRLS WITH OLD SCHOOL NAMES LIKE RUBY MAY**

"I hate my name," she was kicking the chair petulantly, eyes on the floor. Clark could understand why. She was in a bad way.

Lois was injured after stubbornly reporting on an incident of gang violence that had taken the Suicide Slums by the storm. As punishment, she was put on the city beat, and banned from pursuing any of her personal projects until she was fully recovered. Clark one hundred percent approved, and even managed to snag the position as her partner.

"Please," Lois had said, "You're a glorified babysitter."

"Does that make you a baby, then?"

She'd pursed her lips in a way that meant "Shut up, Kent" without ever saying a word. He'd shut up.

Being the stubborn woman that she was, she'd still been determined to follow her story, even if she was only allowed to write fluffy human pieces.

Thus, Clark ended up in a quiet apartment with a ten-year-old eyewitness to the violence while Lois interviewed the woman. She'd been sullen the entire time, and Clark hadn't spoken a word to her until she interjected her complaints into the quiet.

"Why?" Clark asked. "What is it?"

She fidgeted, meeting his eyes for a split second before looking down at her glittery plastic sandals again. Her brown hair was twisted into two puffs on the side of her head, and she wore a headband to match her sandals. Her brown nose was crinkled up in distaste.

"It's Mildred," she spat it out as if it hurt her. "My sister's name is Ruby May. She tease me about it alot."

"Mildred's a beautiful name," he said.

"No it's not," she mumbled. "It's an old lady name. Ruby May said so. But everyone calls me Milly cause Mildred ain't a name for a little girl. Only Ruby May calls me Mildred."

"Would you like me to call you Milly then?"

She seemed to seriously think about it for a whole minute, before shaking her head vigorously. "No! Call me Mildred. I don't want to be Milly anymore."

Ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut, Clark persevered. "Okay then, Mildred. It's very nice to meet you." He held out his hand. "I'm Clark."

She grabbed it firmly with both hands and shook it energetically. "Hello, Mr. Clark, I'm Mildred." She dropped his hand and cradled her small chin in her small hands, bracing her elbow on her thigh.

"You know, she dead."

Clark was startled from his quiet observation, one ear on Lois' conversation with Mildred's mother in the other room. "What?"

"Ruby May is dead. They done killed her a week ago. She was taking out the garbage, and Ma say the police don't care and ain't going to do nothing, so that's why she's talking to the reporters. She was gonna put it on facebook, but she didn't know what to say so when she heard ya'll was over here she ran out to catch up with you."

Clark didn't know what to say to that, mostly because he knew it was true. The Metropolis Police Department were still trying to deal with the damages from Zod's attack. The riots in the Suicide Slums were hardly of any importance, not when people were still looting the metropolitan area of the city that had escaped much of the destruction. Superman had come and managed to greatly accelerate the speed of the repairs— eighteen months now, since the attack, and it was only in the ground zero area that anyone could even tell that tens of skyscrapers had been demolished.

But places like these were greatly overlooked.

Pulling out his phone to record and pen and notebook to take notes, he leaned forward and gently gave her a smile.

"Why don't you tell me about her?" he asked.

She blinked away a small sheen of tears. "Okay."

And Clark wrote down the story of Ruby May Blanche. It didn't go to the Daily Planet, being a child's testimony, but just speaking about her sister enlivened something in the young girl's face as she started off with a stark, almost clinical description of her death in the drive-by— she'd been watching from the window— to lighter softer anecdotes and funnier stories that lit her face up with joy through her tears.

Superman hadn't been able to save Ruby May Blanche, and he certainly could not help Mildred, but Clark Kent could listen, and the longer he heard her story, the more he realized this distraught, painfully lonely girl wanted— someone to listen.

"Ruby May never liked calling me Milly, cause she said we had to have old names together. So if I'm Mildred, she's Ruby May, and she'll still be here."

When they stepped out, Lois the workings of a piece on the injustice of a mother losing a child and her murder going uninvestigated (an event so unfortunately common the article would be dismissed by her hundreds of thousands of readers the moment they saw the Slums mentioned) Clark sedately followed behind. Sirens wailed in the background, but they weren't police cars or fire trucks, but fire alarms. The buildings down the road were on fire.

"You know Lois," he said suddenly, interrupting the steady cadence of their mismatched footsteps, "there's something about fluff pieces."

She looked up at him and smiled, and he knew she understood.

 **Thanks for reading! This was the second oneshot i wrote after sunset, can you believe it?**

 **YellowWomanontheBrink**

 **October 12, 2019**

 **1:34 AM**


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